


Every Day, You Learn Something New

by RodeoQueen



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Badass Reader, Comedy, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Farmer's Markets, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fortuna (Devil May Cry), Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Parent Vergil (Devil May Cry), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vergil learns to socialize, background characters do not affect the plot, domestic chaos, vergil doesn't understand basic housekeeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RodeoQueen/pseuds/RodeoQueen
Summary: Vergil tries his best to become part of the family Demon Huntress and Nero created. Years of isolation and demonic violence leaves him ultimately unprepared for what it takes to be a father and especially a husband, let alone a human.This installment was beta-read by @sleepyCJwritesSTUFFnow.
Relationships: Nero's Mother/Vergil (Devil May Cry), Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Original Female Character(s), Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Vergil (Devil May Cry)/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	1. Mariana Trench

**Author's Note:**

> Local Deadbeat Dad Fails To Learn Basic Home-Keeping Skills And Feels Familial Disconnect.

Vergil must admit. He had seen a lot in his years. From lowly demonic territories that reeked of death and rot, to abandoned cities with the smell of burning flesh, he had stomached it all and persevered. 

But nothing, nothing topped how Dante chose to live with himself in his shop. Vergil was absolutely disgusted. 

So when Dante had to go on a weekend long excursion to hunt some demons, Vergil was infuriated to discover that the younger twin had not paid the bills in weeks. Thus, Vergil would be stuck in the disaster of a shop with no lights or water for the remainder of the week. 

“You buffoon! How do you live like this?” 

“I’m so lucky I can’t see you glaring at me with the lights off.”

“We both can see in the dark, Dante.”

“My eyes are closed.” Vergil growled at his stupidity. 

Dante shrugged, grabbing his sword and wallet. 

“Look, you can go live with Nero and (Y/N) for the rest of the week. She’s the best cook I know.” 

“That would be informal and intrusive.” 

“Vergil. Come on. You should go.”

“But-”

“I already called ahead.” 

“Dante-” 

Dante placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Just have a nice weekend with your kid and baby mother.” 

Dante left the dark shop, closing the door behind him. Vergil was left alone.

So here he was now, having opened a portal to your home in Fortuna, a few meager belongings in hand.

Vergil withdrew the Yamato. It was a quaint house, two stories with a basement and a porch in the back. It was close to the orphanage that Nero often visited. 

He had become quite acquainted with your home from the outside. He hadn’t visited in some time, much busier dealing with Dante’s messes and assortments of hunts. Often he had come over for a few hours and then walked back to Redgrave, but never had he stayed the night. 

You had “taught him a lesson” when he first came to your house, but since then you had not exhibited your protective vengeance on him again. 

Vergil knocked on the door, noting the carved sigils written beneath the rug. He then knocked on the door again. 

“Nero, your father’s here, get the door.” 

His son quickly opened the door, greeting his father with a quick wave. Vergil noticed he was wearing a blue apron. He took off his boots and saw you were in the kitchen, making dinner. You had your own apron on, hands busy at work chopping vegetables. Vergil and you made eye contact, and he realized he was still standing absentmindedly by the coat rack. 

“Verg-er-dad? Do you want anything to drink?” Nero asked, scratching his nose. Vergil paid no mind to his slip up.

“No.” Nero walked back into the kitchen to assist his mother. Vergil sat on the couch, a few distances away from the open kitchen, where the sound of the knife was the background noise.

“Vergil, you can sit if you want, we can use some company at the counter.” 

“Very well.” Vergil moved himself to the counter seat. 

“How was your day? Dante called earlier, you weren’t on the line.” 

“I was training.” 

“In the dark?” Nero jokes as he takes out the marinated meats from the magnet-covered refrigerator. 

“The lights were shut off while I was training.” Vergil said flatly. 

Nero and you laughed over the absurdity of the chaos that was living with Dante. 

Dinner was a quick affair as you made a stir-fry and rice. Vergil sat with you all quietly as he normally did when he visited once in a while. Nero rarely talked during meals, busy eating to power his demonic metabolism. It was something you noticed with him and his uncle Dante. Both of them could eat their weight in anything and still ask for seconds. Vergil on the other hand, seemed quite fine eating like a normal person. You offered him tea, knowing he would not ask for it. 

Afterward, Nero went to his room. You had bought him a console after his little “arm-got-ripped off” incident so he could spend time in bedrest without getting bored. Now, the arm came back but the whole playing video games until Sparda knows when stayed.

You did the dishes in the silence after you turned off the TV. When it was late, you turned to see Vergil sitting on the couch. 

“Vergil, do you want to take my room tonight?” 

“No. Here is fine.” Vergil answered, refusing your hospitality. 

“Really? It’s fine if you want to-” 

“(Y/N), this is adequate.” 

“Let’s get you some pajamas then, Nero has some extra.” You mumbled. 

“No need.” He said, placing the Yamato on the innermost part of the sofa. 

“Won’t you be uncomfortable?” 

“No.” 

“I’m going to freshen up alright?” 

“Very well.” Vergil moved himself to lay on the furniture. 

Vergil laid onto the couch, feeling a strange weight underneath him. He felt the underside of the couch, feeling the familiar hilt of a sword. Vergil took out a Japanese wakizashi, a shorter katana-like weapon. He unsheathed the bright red case a few inches, revealing a night-black blade that reeked of demonic energy. Your ears pricked at the sound of the Shi no Te. 

“I like to be prepared.” You shrugged, taking the blade and sheath. 

Despite the innocent sentence, Vergil felt an air of guilt. 

You were alone, raising Nero. You couldn’t depend on anyone to protect his son, taking it solely by yourself. But who was going to protect you? You were more than capable of that, Vergil knew. But did you have to worry every single day for your safety, knowing you had no one? Had you feared being attacked every night, your son and you killed in the dead of night? Like his mother and almost his brother? 

His thoughts made him flinch and he turned his head away from your worried eyes. 

“Vergil, are you alright?” 

“I am well.” He lied. 

He was a deadbeat. And for once, Vergil took Dante’s quip seriously. 

“Well, have a good night. I have a job tomorrow, but Nero will be home.” 

“...”

You left him to his thoughts. Staring at the picture on the wood coffee table, he loses himself in the image of you and Nero. It was just the two of you, most likely you had set an automatic timer on the camera. It was an older photo when Nero was still a young child. He held onto your shirt as you hoisted him onto the side of your hip. He looks into his child’s face, seeing every bit of himself. With his pursuit of his own self-benefit, he had also abandoned himself through his son. 

He knew that you had forgiven him long ago, but abandonment was abandonment. Have you ever felt a moment's peace? Would things be better if he stayed all those years before? Would he belong in the picture frame with you and Nero? Or at least, would he be the one taking the picture of his son and you? If your positions were switched that day, would he have your life? And you his? 

Would Nero turn out the same? Or would he become a monster just like his father? 

Vergil stared at your picture for a long time. 

You looked just like the first time he met you. The silent and solemn look until boasting of your future endeavors, those bewitching eyes that burned with potential, and your scorching human heart that demanded to give kindness to the world. 

He remembered that day when you crossed paths with him for the first time in Fortuna. All those years ago, he had come to Nero’s future birthplace to learn more about the Order. He had come across the inconvenience of those lowly Scarecrows when you had appeared. You quickly drew your weapon for him, the creatures falling apart at your feet. He was peeved at your nosiness but drawn in by your presence. You turned around, exposing to him a glare he had not seen before. It quickly went away as you strapped your weapon away. 

_“You’re not from Fortuna are you?”_

_“That is none of your concern.”_

_“Fortuna is a closed off place, strangers tend to stick out.”_

_“You’re no local either.”_

_“You’d be correct, my friend.”_

_“We’re strangers.”_

_“We don’t have to be.”_

He wanted to walk away, yet you reminded him of someone. Someone he begged the universe not to take away. So he spared you the rejection. 

Neither of you remember the woman in red staring at the both of you walking away in the same direction. 

That afternoon together turned into a bit of a partnership, and then a semblance of shared affections. You had lived in Fortuna for a few days, walking about listlessly, a more than liveable sum of cash in your pocket. You had returned from a suicide mission, killing a demonic horde several islands over. It was a job the others had lost their lives for but you had returned with a broken blade. You had plunged it into the once-impenetrable heart of the alpha demon, the force shattering the steel.You were offered a paid vacation for your efforts, and you chose Fortuna. Vergil, as literally hell-bounded as he was, told himself he was only there to learn of the Order. You just happened to be near him. And with you by him, he learned more about you and himself than he initially wanted. 

You two were both isolated, alone. He was the son of Sparda, his demonic heritage his merit and crown. You were a lone hunter with only one title, your name. No gratuitous-yet-well-deserved monikers just yet, but tremendous amounts of respect still given. But that was not your intention, to be respected and worshipped for your might. 

_“Power? Strength? All burdens we bear for the ones we love.”_ Vergil called you a fool that day, a brief little smirk on the side of his mouth. 

Those few months were insignificant in quantity in comparison to the rest of his 42-something years of fighting. Although, he would never forget the last night he was in Fortuna. In your bare skinned embrace, Vergil felt a ghost of hesitation. His selfish heart and mind pulled him away and Yamato in hand, he left. 

He left you and the soon to be newborn. He heard from the scarce communications he made before, whispers and hisses of a new huntress that made it to the top of the food chain, shrouded by the titles deemed by those she saved. He paid it no mind. He needed to be the strongest half-demon that existed, some high-level human meant nothing to that. 

Even as Nelo Angelo, he still recalled your silhouette flitting between his shattered memories. 

On the mountain, while you heaved your bloodied human hands onto the peak and proclaimed your supremacy, he had fallen to the bottom. Even with his newfound freedom, he was lost at the trough.

When he came to the human realm again, becoming whole with V, he saw you again. He didn’t know what you had gone through to become the many-named huntress who bore his son. You were more brutal than before, radiating sheer might and strength. The humanity within you burned hotter than the fires around you and you became a diamond where others turned to coal and ash. 

His human half desperately wanted warmth and protection. And all he could perceive of kindness was you. He didn’t know what V said when he had brought you to his childhood home. He only felt your embrace, this tempered comfort that was all surrounding him. All he felt was a regret of the past and determination to save the future. 

Back to the near present, he recalled your brutal retaliation against him when he had returned. It was a fitting punishment, the being who fought because of his lack of love in his heart to be pummeled by a woman who fought on behalf of it. 

And yet afterward-

You opened the door for him, despite what he had done. You had invited him to your home. You sat next to him, the man who brought devastation to the world and nearly killed his own son and brother. 

Your strength was nothing like his. He was strong enough to conquer and destroy. You were strong enough to love and forgive.

Vergil closed his eyes. 

_“Hey! Vergil! You better make it up to Mom when you get back!”_ Nero’s voice rang through his head. 

“I should.” Vergil whispered to no one. He imagined you in your room, still clutching the black bladed wakizashi. He imagined the worst that could have happened. He thinks of fire. He thinks of your screams.

He did not sleep the entire night.

When you had awakened, he had kept his eyes shut to feign sleep. He sensed the weight on your side of the bed shift. Sounds of rustling clothing meant you had quickly changed and opened your weapons storage. 

You left the room and Vergil heard you leave for the bathroom, close the door, enter Nero's room. You hesitated in the living room, looking at him for certain. A drawer opened and you quickly jotted down on a pad of paper. You then promptly exited the house. 

The Sun was sleeping, the sky still holding onto the dark. 

His son had reawakened to the new day hours later, walking into the living room scratching the back of his head. He yawned and turned around, and yelped. Vergil was sitting on the couch, perfectly still and in thought. 

“You’ve awakened.” Vergil started, flipping through his book. 

“Uh, yeah. I did. Mornin.” Nero walked into the kitchen, taking out a carton of orange juice. He noticed his mother’s absence and quickly took a swig of the beverage without a glass. Vergil assumed his mother did not let him do that in front of her. 

“Aw man, it’s Saturday.” Nero groaned, seeing how the groceries were scarce within the fridge. He couldn’t even make an egg sandwich and the bread left was the end pieces. 

“Um, did Mom leave a-” Vergil held up the said note. It was a yellow paper note with a strange sticky strip on the back. On it was a rather long list of necessities, some Vergil never heard of. He got up to hand it to his estranged son. 

“Looks like I have to go shopping today.” Nero sighed and went back to his room to change. He had to move around Vergil, who stood quite imposingly in front of him. Vergil examined the note Nero left on the counter. 

Vergil turned to the sound of Nero’s cough. His son scratched his nose- an odd habit neither parent possessed- and gestured to the note. 

“I-er-need that.” 

“Let’s go then.” Vergil promptly grabbed the Yamato. 

“You want to come with?” 

“I’m leaving, Nero.” 

“Hey, wait-” Vergil had already left the door by the time Nero scrambled to put his shoes on. The white-haired son quickly grabbed the cloth bag hanging on the coat rack. 

“I didn’t know you liked grocery shopping.” 

“I have not gone in years.” 

“Well, you’re going the wrong way.” 

Vergil quickly followed his son, slightly having gotten ahead of himself. The two were a sight to behold, the only white-haired people in Fortuna. Through the cobbled streets, both parties walked awkwardly next to each other. Nero, who just wanted breakfast, and Vergil who simply wanted to see what it was like to be in his huntress’ domestic shoes for a day, 

Yes, his huntress. As if he was present all those years ago to address her as such. 

“Since the fruit stalls are closer, we should go for that first.” The crowds of people got louder and larger, the two squeezing around other vendors and buyers. 

Now that many people were done with their jobs and vendors prepared to sell, the streets of Fortuna were popular on the weekends. 

Nero managed to find his way to the usual vendors he was familiar with. A few older women with loud voices haggled with the experienced and stubborn farmers who knew exactly what their product was worth. 

“Nero! It’s good to see you.” An ageless dark-skinned woman with long beaded braids greeted the young adult. 

“Daliah, nice to see you too.” Nero returned. Vergil did not receive any greetings. The woman, Daliah, quickly ushered his son by her stall, Vergil following suit. It was covered with an orange cloth at the top, shading the people inside. 

“Where has your mother gone? Has she gone off to rid the world of those pesky creatures again?” 

“Yep, she’ll be back tonight though.” Daliah, with her colorful skirt swishing behind her, got behind the display of various fruits. 

“I see, I see.” Nero picked at the displays, obviously trying to see which orange was the best but having no clue how to tell. Vergil stood next to him imposingly. 

“And you are?” Daliah asked. Vergil did not answer. Daliah, hands adorned with various woven bracelets and almond shaped nails, snapped her fingers at Vergil. 

“I do not see how it concerns you.” Vergil snipped. Daliah smiled. 

“Vergil!” Nero exclaimed. Vergil said nothing. 

“It is nice to meet you, Vergil.” She mused, raising an eyebrow at the embarrassed Nero. Nero handed over the fruits he picked. Daliah quickly switched a few for the ones she deemed better. 

“Your mother should smack you with a spoon for some of the ones you picked.” She tutted. Nero turned slightly pink. Daliah laughed, showing pearly white teeth. 

“Now, that will be 10 dollars.” Vergil noticed the sign on their stall. He squinted at the numbers, doing the math. 

“You are short-selling yourself.” Daliah noticed the critical expression on his face. 

“Yes, I am. His mother is a friend of mine.” She explained. 

“You’re losing a profit.” Nero sighed. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I left my wallet at home.” Vergil had walked out so quickly, his son didn’t even get to grab the cash. 

“I can go back-” Nero started, Daliah held up her hand to stop him. 

“-Don’t worry about it. Your mother can come back tomorrow and pay. I miss her weekly company.” She winked. Nero thanked her profusely, promising to avoid another situation like this. Daliah waved goodbye. Nero turned to see his father had already walked off, note in hand looking for the next items. 

“H-hey!” Vergil sees his son catch back up to him. 

“You have got to stop running off! I hate leaving tabs with these vendors.” 

“That woman is a fool for short-selling you-” 

“She was trying to be nice!” Nero argued back. 

“Foolish to combine marketing with personal emotions.” 

Vergil found a gaggle of older men, farmers with tanned out skin and moles, sitting on a tarp with piles of different vegetables. They spoke in rapid foreign languages, likely Chinese, and played card games. 

He walked over, and the conversation stopped. Nero attempted to greet the men, but Vergil read the note before Nero could open his mouth. 

“Do you perchance sell any vegetables?” 

They looked at him and laughed amongst each other. One of them, with a straw hat, peered up at him. 

“See for yourself.” He said, pointing to the assortments of vegetables. Vergil gritted his teeth. These vendors were something else. 

“Hey you guys.” Nero waved awkwardly. 

“Ah yes, (Y/N)’s boy! What do you need?” Another vendor exclaimed. 

“Well, first of all, I left my wallet at home-” 

“I guess we can’t sell you anything.” Nero stared at them, a dead look in his eyes. 

“Just kidding. Your mother would come and skin me if I said no to you.” The straw hat vendor joked, slapping his knee. 

Nero grabbed what he needed, the vendors resuming their game of poker. Vergil is losing his patience and he walks away again, following the road. 

“And you’re going to the wrong place, again.” 

“It says bread, there is a bakery right there.” Vergil pointed to a store. 

“That’s not where we go. Mom only buys local.” Nero gestured to another stall to the left, where a much smaller booth stood. 

“Sup Nero, your usual?” The teenager in front of the business called out, sitting at the wooden table. 

“Yeah, Yzma.” Nero answered. The girl with the septum ring grabbed gloves, taking baked goods Nero pointed at. Vergil looked around him, noticing the sudden lack of buyers coming to the stall. He looked down, noticing many people gazing at his Yamato. 

“Is your mom curb-stomping demons again?” She asked as she rang up Nero’s order. 

“Yeah, the same old.” 

“Gosh, can we trade moms for a day? Yours is so cool, mine just makes me spend all my weekends here so she can take care of my three hundred siblings.” She joked. 

“I forgot my wallet-” 

“Your punishment is death.” The girl stated plainly. Nero laughed nervously. 

“Just kidding. Just let me touch the sword he’s got and I can let your mom pay when she comes back.” 

“Absolutely not. This sword is a family heirloom, it is a -” Vergil said. The girl bagged the items. 

“Whatever. Just playing with you, geezer.” Nero sputtered as Vergil swore he popped a vein. Yzma laughed, her gap-tooth showing as she clapped her hands with glee. 

“Oh my god, his face! Yeah, that’s totally made my day.” Nero rolled his eyes. 

“Thanks Yzma.” She wiped her tears of laughter off her freckled face. 

“Oh yeah, no problem. Get out of my face.” She shooed him away. 

“Aw man, good old Yzma.” Nero chuckled. Vergil was silent. Nero peered at him. 

“You’re not mad, are you?” 

“She is foolish.” Nero shrugged. 

“Mom’s always been really fond of her and her family. Besides, this challah bread makes all her comments worth it.” Nero immediately devoured a small coiled roll with seeds on it. 

“Oh that hit the spot, do you want one?” 

“No.” Vergil answered, not looking forward to the next location. Nero shrugged, dusting crumbs off his face. 

Nero led them to a butcher shop. A bell chimed as the two walked in. A few customers who saw Vergil’s blade decided to not even step in. Nero read off the note in Vergil’s hand. The two waited at the register, a shining bell in the dead center. 

An old European woman with a scarf tied onto her grey hair sat behind the counter. 

“Hi Katya.” 

Her cloudy green eyes squinted at Nero, who took the note from his father’s fingers. 

“Hello, Nero. You have list for me?” Knobbly hands shakily took the list and examined it. 

“I left my wallet at home, my mom can come back and pay tomorrow.” 

“Ah, I see. I call Sergey for you.” She turned around and hollered something in Russian, the once feeble old lady voice turning into a powerful siren. 

The backdoor was kicked open. A giant of a man stepped through the threshold wiping his hands with a towel. His bushy brows knitted, he looked up and a look of joy reached his face. 

“Ah yes! (Y/N)’s boy. Have you quit demon hunting and come to work for me?” His voice bounced off the floors and the walls, an earsore for Vergil. 

“Um, no Sergey. Mom went for a job, I’m grocery shopping today.” Sergey nodded, his dark green eyes staring at Vergil. He pointed to the taller Sparda, who simply said nothing. He then moved his hand to gesture to Nero. 

“Yeah, this is Vergil..” The man crossed his barrel-like arms, judging Vergil. 

“You are (Y/N)’s husband? Never seen you before.” 

“I was trapped in Hell.” 

“Ah, law school very hard?” 

“No, I-” 

“Anyways! Sergey, do you have everything my mom said to get?” Nero interrupted. Sergey nodded. 

Moments later, the slabs of meat were wrapped up and put into a bag. Sergey rounded the counter to hand the bag to Vergil. His giant bear-paw of a hand was held out for Vergil to shake. Vergil looked at him and made no effort to reciprocate. Nero groaned, cursing his dad’s antisocialness. 

“видеть, я говорил что она плохой вкус мужчины.” Katya commented, earning a laugh from Sergey. 

“он социально, как дерево” He remarked. 

“We better get going, I still have other chores to do.” Katya pinched Nero’s cheek affectionately. 

The walk back home was just as awkward as the walk from home. Nero attempted to walk the same pace as his father with both hands full of groceries. 

“You know, everyone was trying to be nice.” Nero said, his father unreceptive. 

“It is a waste of time.” Vergil snapped. Nero sighed. 

“Now, what else did your mother need to be done?” 

“Laundry. But we have to get eggs first.” 

“Very well.I will make haste to get that completed.” He withdrew his sword while walking, smoothly going through a portal and leaving his son at the marketplace. 

When he had returned to his home, he had left the white plastic bag of animal products on the counter. The laundry room was a way through the kitchen, where a few basins of clothing were to be cleaned. 

He set his sword aside, looking at the machines. 

“Why on earth are there so many knobs?” Vergil added, seeing the various options. 

“Am I to use all of these options?” He wondered. 

After doing what he deemed correct, Vergil sat by the counter and placed his Yamato by him. This was fine. 

The silence of their home was much more comforting than the bustling markets that screamed confrontation. Why were people so uncouth? 

The door opened with a jangle of keys and Nero walked in. 

“Did you get started on the laundry?” Nero asked as he heaved the bulging bags onto the counter. He grabbed the TV remote, turning on a channel. In the ambience of a TV show, he organized the produce. He sneakily hid a few cans of soda under the cupboard. 

“Yes. It was quite simple.” Vergil answered, not looking up from his book. 

“Did you separate the colors?” 

“What?” 

“Did you separate the colors?” Nero repeated. 

“I just put them all in the same washer.” 

“What?!” 

Vergil heard the exasperation in Nero’s voice. Good god, what did he do wrong this time? He set his poetry down, seeing his son dash to the laundry room. 

It was too late. By the time Nero took his prized bone-white Green Day t-shirt out, it had been turned a gray color. The noise he made was of sheer human sadness. 

Vergil felt another twinge of guilt. He was supposed to be proving himself and making (Y/N)’s life easier today. 

_“-Make it up to Mom!”_ Vergil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Nero did his best to handle the rest of the badly-done laundry, throwing the now greyed white shirts into a basin to be bleached. Vergil did not know what to do with himself for the next few hours. 

You had returned an hour later, the sun beginning to slumber. You came home to the sight of Nero on the couch and Vergil at the counter. 

“How was your day, you guys?” You asked, as you hung up your coat. On your way to your room, you noticed Vergil deep in thought. 

“Good, we went shopping.” Nero answered. 

“We?” You asked across the hallway, putting on more domestic clothes. You re-entered the kitchen and opened the full refrigerator. 

“Yeah, he came with.” Nero gestured to Vergil. You smiled as you took out a few ingredients to make a simple pasta. Good to see that your son’s father was going places with him. 

The evening went pretty well, Nero practically wolfed down the Aglio di Aglio you made, claiming there was nothing to eat earlier. Vergil stayed quiet as usual, concerning you. 

“How was the market?” 

“Well, you have to go back tomorrow. I left my wallet and just pulled a few tabs with our usual vendors.” 

“How did you forget your wallet?” You laughed, taking a sip of stolen soda. Nero made a sour face at that. How you managed to find his stash everytime was beyond him. 

“We were in a rush I guess.” Nero fibbed, noting Vergil’s discomfort. 

“That’s alright. I can go by tomorrow.” 

“I’m going to be at Kyrie’s tomorrow.” Nero added, scratching his nose. 

“That’s fine. You tell that sweetheart I said hi.” 

Nero retired to his room, deciding to take the rest of the evening off. You did the dishes as Vergil sat on the couch. The night was silent, and you sensed something was wrong. 

Vergil was always so willing to keep things to himself. Even as the youngsters you once were, Vergil was withdrawn, unable to voice what he internally screamed for. 

You waited instead, not like a preying huntress, but as a patient homemaker. You dried the dishes and took off your apron. Hanging it on a spare hook, you made your way to Vergil. Bright blues met your own, and you put your hands on your hips. 

“It’s getting late, Vergil.” 

“It is.” 

“Are you ready to sleep?” 

“Yes.” He curtly answered. 

“Alright. My offer still stands.” You said slowly, making eye contact for longer than usual. 

You left and almost got halfway down the hallway when you heard the chair squeak. Vergil sighed.

“..I will accept.” You gave yourself a knowing smile. He watched you enter the bathroom before taking strides to your private room. Nero’s room already had its lights shut off, the boy passed out with his headphones still on his head. 

Vergil opened and shut the door of your room, seeing the spare change of clothing you had left on the dresser the day before. 

He quickly changed, hearing you begin your routine. He left your bedroom, wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt he assumed belonged to Nero. The bathroom door was opened, exposing your shelf of personal products and you washing your face. 

You handed him his bare essentials of floss and a toothbrush. He did his routine of flossing and brushing, using your own minty toothpaste. 

The two of you entered your bedroom, where a single lamp lit up the left side of the bed. 

“Pick a side.” You murmur, seeing Vergil’s clothes on your dresser where you left Nero’s clothes he didn’t wear as much anymore. 

He chose the side leaning closer to the door, to your right. The blanket covered the both of you, you becoming curled up in the fluffy sheets and Vergil stiffly lying with it on him, as if he didn’t want evidence of his stay on your mattress. 

You took a long breath. You laid onto your bed, feeling the tension of your job leaving you. 

Vergil was enveloped by your scent as it was your place. There were no quarter-demonic pheromones, just you and your humanity. After years of not being with you, he fought back the urge to smother his face into the pillow. You continued to welcome him, the fallen king of hell who couldn’t even talk to humans right or have half the brain to get laundry done correctly. You could have picked any mate while he was gone and even rejected him for anyone else when he requested your hand in courtship. Why?

“Why are you so accepting of me?” Vergil said evenly, refusing to make eye contact with you. You stay silent, you knew not to goad him. Vergil continued. 

“I am not a good man. Even as I court you, to prove myself a suitable mate, I find I am lacking in every way.” 

“You offered your courtship, and I accepted.” Vergil is lying with his hands resting on his chest, and his heart is beating like a drum. 

“A terrible decision really.” He said darkly. 

“And I will lie with it.” Vergil glanced at you before resuming looking at the ceiling. He feels your arm stretch over and cover the distance he made between you two, he could turn and be neighbors to your embrace. He believes he does not deserve your touch, but it is what he wants. 

You wait for the tides of conversation to reach you. 

“I failed my promise.” He gravely said. 

“Promise of what?” 

He heard his son’s voice again and inhaled a breath. 

“I promised to make things up for you, after all these years. I failed to even be a simple human. Yet alone a father. Or a mate.” He went silent, his insecurity painted on his skin.

You remembered the tabs and the grey t-shirt you don’t remember owning. Oh Vergil. You stifle a chuckle, looking at him. 

“Is that what happened today with the laundry and the tabs at the markets?” 

“I should know better.” Vergil argued. 

“You wouldn’t know if you don’t ask.” 

“....” You took a breath. 

“Vergil, to try and fail is to be human. Every day, we fail and we fall. Everyday, we learn and we rise. And today, you tried to do something new and it didn’t work out.” You said, a fond little smile on your face. 

“That’s okay. Even through failure, we learn. Every day, you learn something new.” 

Vergil’s steady beating chest now sounded like a thunderstorm in his ears. 

“That’s why we have each other. And tomorrow, we will rise together. And we will learn together.” Your voice is strong, a cliffed coast unafraid of the stubborn force of the tides, flowing to the beating of his blessed yet cursed heart. 

“Together…” His lips weakly opened to say, and you nodded. You patted your hand against the sheets. 

“Now sleep. I know you were faking this morning.” 

“Am I so easily read?” 

“Like a book, I’m afraid.” 

Vergil smiles, a rare sight. 

While the moon kisses the sky like a familiar lover, two long lost stars slowly fall into orbit. 


	2. Mount Everest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vergil tries again with Huntress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local Dad Is Can Pasta Better Than He Can Laundry.

_**Chapter II- Mount Everest** _

Vergil woke to warmth, his arms stretching across the expanse of the bed. He stilled. Had he embraced you in his sleep? In mortification, he immediately shot up from the sheets contoured from his form. 

He slumped down in relief to find he had not, as you had left the bed while he rested. Speaking of which, where were you, Huntress? Sounds of frying and popping oil drew him out of his bleariness in the morning. The smell of smoked meats and some sort of hearty vegetables tempted his brain to function. 

He got up, seeing from the dresser mirror how his hair had become messy and was sticking up every direction but down. Vergil patted his silver hair down, quickly changing into his clothes on the counter. 

You were in the kitchen, still in your bedwear, hard at work. Vergil came by, standing near you by the stove. You gave a smile, one of your hands holding a mug of something steaming. 

“How do you like your eggs?” You asked, going to the fridge to take out a ginormous carton of eggs, the one of many. 

“Any way will do.” You handed him a mug of something herbal. He drank it, pleasantly meeting the taste of green tea, although much more earthy and bitter. It soothed his dry throat, and he sipped it while watching you. 

The meat that you fried in thick rustic strips popped with animal fat and emitted a rare smoky smell he was not used to. It wasn’t burning demonic flesh he forced himself to nourish on, he reminded himself. Those days were behind him. He breathed it in, reminded of breakfast during childhood instead. 

You had taken out the largest cast iron pans you had for this morning. The potatoes fried with the meat, the eggs popping with a crust forming by itself, while oatmeal bubbled in a small pot, and a few slices of bread toasted in olive oil. Vergil wondered how you managed to handle it all. 

“I assume the bed was better than the couch.” You said, noting the slightly-lessened dark eye circles on Vergil’s face. He smirked. 

“Perhaps.” You took out the jams and spreads and set them on the table. You steadily placed a fork, a knife, and a spoon next to each plate. Vergil took a final sip of his tea, the clay clicking on the table when he set it down. 

You quickly plated the breakfast and set them onto the table with a few fruits you cut up and washed. 

“Come on now, you must be hungry.” While you washed your hands, Nero opened his door. He waved at his father, who sat down across where his mother would sit. Nero poured himself a giant cup of orange juice. Before you sat down, you refilled Vergil’s emptied cup with more yerba mate. He took it, steady and cool to the touch hands grazing your own. 

“Thank you.” You smiled and took a seat. 

Immediately, Nero wolfed down a giant strip of meat and chased it down with an egg. Vergil and you simply watched your ravenous son as he tore through a piece of bread. He nearly choked, chugging half his orange juice. You sighed and handed him another slice of bread, which he happily dug into an egg yolk. 

Nero finished his fifth slice of bacon and got up to put his dish in the sink and ran off to change and meet up with his girlfriend. He practically raced through his routine and gave you a quick peck before running through the door. 

“Every week I swear.” You laugh. 

After doing the dishes, Vergil helped you, surprisingly, by clearing away the plates. You walked off into your room, emerging dressed in simple jeans and a white shirt.

You grabbed a bag and checked for your wallet. Once everything was deemed to be on your person, you went to leave. 

After closing the door, you were surprised to see it open again. Vergil came out, joining you by the steps. He shut the sigil-protected door. You locked it. 

“Let’s go.” 

“We shall.” 

On the good Sundays, the markets were much emptier and Vergil finally felt like he could breathe. No people were present to continue bumping into him and him wishing to take out the Yamato to “clear out the crowd.” 

Daliah was delighted to see you again. She had changed her orange skirt and yellow blouse for a loose sundress. The woman quickly embraced you over the stall, rocking side to side. 

“How have you been?” She exclaimed, holding you at arm’s length. 

“I’ve been hunting demons as usual.” 

“No, how have you been?” She emphasized.

“Well, I am happy. Not as tired.” 

“I see, I see.” Daliah smiled. Her brown eyes met Vergil’s. 

“Ah, Vergil. We meet again.” Vergil stared back at her. She looked at you with amusement. 

“Silent and brooding, what a pair.” You laughed, handing her 10 dollars. 

“Again, thank you for letting Nero pull a tab.” 

“I see where your son gets his brashness from.” Vergil scoffed at her comment, arms crossed. She chuckled at his disdain. 

“And his good looks. You pick a very handsome man, my dear.” You smile at Vergil. 

“I did and I do.” Vergil’s expression did not wane, though Daliah could see those softened eyes from miles away. Her own husband always looked at her like that. 

You gave a final hug, promising that you’d come by for tea another day. 

Vergil made quick work to hand over the bills to pay the embarrassing tab. The farmers jeered at his willingness to leave. 

“Don’t be so hasty, albino man.” Vergil’s vein popped slightly at the bald farmer’s comment. 

“After yesterday, I am lacking the resolve to socialize with you all.” 

“We were playing with you! New people are so funny to mess with.” Another bald man with a missing front tooth waved him off. 

“It is alright, husbands are all the dumb ones in the relationship.” A visor wearing farmer with a low gravelly voice assured him. 

“My wife handles the money, I just do the farming.” The straw hat-wearing man joked.

“Hong, your wife does the farming too.” 

“Shut it. I’m trying my best.” 

Vergil was entertained at their rapid tirade, leading you off as they arranged another game of mahjong, a traditional Chinese tile game as you had explained it. 

“They seem rather amiable to you,” Vergil commented. You scoffed. 

“I’m friends with their wives. If they mess with me, I can give away that they’re gambling behind their wives’ backs again.” 

You found the path to the bread vendors. Yzma excitedly called out at you, her father had come with her to work. A tall tan string-bean of a man, Aapo was both a father and a businessman. His dark brown eyes bore a familial kindness yet his dark eye circles screamed “I have a newborn to take care of.” You knew that expression as one of your own.

“Hi, Huntress! What’s cracking?” Yzma had seen you come to her family’s stall since she was a wee child. Her father, Aapo, laughed at his eldest daughter’s excitement. 

“Hello, Yzma. I came to pay the tab my son and-” You glanced at Vergil. 

“-His father’s tab.” Yzma nodded, checking a notepad for recollection. 

“Ah, yes. I would need a small fee of a billion dollars.” 

“Very funny, Yzma. Would twenty-five dollars come close?” 

“Yeah, I guess. But it’d be cooler if I could touch the sword from yesterday.” She dramatically turned to stare mischievously at Vergil. He internally groaned. Not this again. 

“Thought I’d forget about you, geezer?” 

“I am as old as she is.” Vergil tilted his head to you, who stood next to him. 

“Yeah Yzma. Stop making him feel old.” You put your hand on your hip. 

“You’re both fossils.” Yzma joked. The two of you glared at Yzma. She giggled with joy, only to have her father gently smack her upside the head. The father of the noisy teen was quite possibly the tallest human Vergil had ever seen, even towering half a foot above him. 

“Your mother and I did not raise you to make other people cry about their age.” Aapo smiled at Vergil. 

“It’s very nice to meet you. I hear you are-?” 

“Vergil.” 

“Ah. Your son and you look very alike.” Vergil looked at the similar freckles and gap-tooth grin the father and daughter shared. 

“As you with your own kin.” 

You gave Yzma the money, chuckling as she checked to see if the bills were fake. 

“Well, this one might be a counterfeit. I’m afraid you’re going to have to let me see the sword to make up for it.” 

“Yzma. Dear, please let the man have his weapon to himself.”

“But Papa! It’s so cool!” 

“(Y/N), please just run while you still can. I’m afraid I cannot run a business and restrain her at the same time.” 

You laughed, pulling on Vergil’s arm to say “let’s go.” 

Instead, Vergil surprised the four of you. A flash of blue light went through the air and the Yamato appeared. 

Yzma gasped and squealed. Jumping up and down, she pointed to the blade. 

“Oh my god! It just appeared out of thin air! Papa! Look!” 

“Yzma I have eyes too.” Her father wearily said. 

“Proceed.” He held it to her hand. Despite her brash personality, she truly grazed the fabric of the katana with reverence. Although the rapid gibberish coming out of her mouth was off-putting. 

He quickly vanished the blade and took his leave. You waved good-bye to the currently-flipping-out teenager and her exhausted father. 

“That was very kind of you.” 

“If I were to refuse, she’d pester me.” 

“Teenagers are all the same. Nero used to beg me every day to join the Order.” 

“And you let him?” 

“Well, I made him a wager. He beat me in a swordfight and he could go.” 

“I doubt he won.” Vergil knew your prowess. Even in your youth you knocked him over several times. 

“Yes, he did actually. But-” You leaned to him. 

“I intentionally made a misstep.” He smiled. 

“It seems the huntress relented to her own son.” 

“All mothers do, I’m afraid. Keep it a secret, alright?” 

“Do you fear he will believe you went easy on him?” 

“His pride is too fragile to handle otherwise.”. It seemed that his son had inherited more than just his white hair. 

The two of you stopped at the butcher shop, where Sergey sliced thin pieces of bacon at the display counter while Katya continued to knit a long scarf. Katya put down her needles to greet you. 

Sergey saw the white-haired man had returned, the huntress in lead. 

You walked in first, Vergil choosing to close the door behind him. 

“Здравствуйте, my dear.”

“I hear my son and his father have been leaving tabs for me.” You say, coming up to the counter. 

Sergey’s footsteps could have started earthquakes, his boots thumping closer to both the huntress and the dark slayer. His voice was thunder as he wiped his hands with another towel. 

“Ah yes. They have. Good thing you’re here to fix that, yes?” You nodded, handing over a few bills. 

“Your son looks just like his father.” The older European woman commented. You sighed. 

“Everyone’s been saying that lately. It’s rather true. White-hair and all.” Katya nodded, knobbly hands receiving those green paper notes.

“Yes, your son is very strong. Lift car like a feather.” Sergey said, gesturing to his own bicep. 

“That’s his side of the family.” You laughed. Vergil puffed out his chest a bit, arms crossed. 

“Yes. But the boy is kind, like mother.” Katya said, resting a hand on your own. 

“Here’s something for him.” Sergey came around the corner, holding a roll of fabric. He gave it to Vergil, who reluctantly held it into his hand. Sergey, ever the blunt, snuck in that cursed handshake. 

He pumped Vergil’s arm a few times and let go, giving a grunt of approval. 

Vergil unfurled the rolled fabric, revealing a white apron. 

“If being lawyer does not go well, you work for me. But for now, use this to do chores for huntress.” Sergey joked, his voice completely flat. Vergil nodded. Sergey patted his back, nearly knocking over the unprepared Vergil. The Russian native had the blow of a bear’s swipe. 

Before Vergil went to follow the mother of his son, Katya called out to him. 

“Be good to huntress. She is strong woman, good heart. But too used to being alone.” 

Vergil nodded. 

You bid the brother and sister goodbye, walking out the butchery. The sun had emerged to its fullest, blinding you. 

The two of you meandered the trail back home. It was a silent walk home, which you didn’t mind. The Sparda twin might have been exhausted of his social battery. 

By the time you unlocked your door and put your bag away, you turned around to see Vergil still clutching the apron. He seemed to be scrutinizing the fabric, something on his mind. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” 

“It is adequate. I was not kind to him, I don’t see the need for him to give this to me.” 

He sat down while you brewed some tea and coffee for the two of you. 

“Well, that’s people Vergil. We don’t always expect kindness first to be good in return.” He was handed a cup of tea again. You sat next to him. 

“I am still learning to understand kindness.” He whispered. 

“Oh, Vergil.” 

The afternoon is spent with the ambience of the church bells and the wind chimes. Vergil thought about the look in everyone’s eyes. What he assumed was disgust, was truly just curiosity. Despite his innate ignorance to human customs, they didn’t think of it as an offense. 

Humans are soft and weak. He could see it in their fear and reluctance to come near him. He saw it in their inability to stand alone in darkness. He saw it in how they grabbed at each other to pull someone else down with them to the spiral of greed and crudeness. 

It was pathetic, he used to think. 

But today, oh today.

He saw softness in the way Daliah and Katya held your hand with sisterly and maternal affection. He watched the way the giant Russian man patted his back, a way of expressing acceptance. Rudimentary but ever-present. 

Humans are soft and weak, but they are pliable and warm as well. Willing to move around each other and embrace one another for not only physical warmth, but to secure each other’s souls to this mortal earth. They sacrificed like it was a dying art. He took a breath.

Now, he was learning not to mind it. To walk amongst flesh and blood. To be with you. To be present. 

By the third bell, a phone had rang. You had gotten up from your seat to grab it off the wall it was attached to. 

“This is The Demon Huntress. Oh hello-” You turned to Vergil, mouthing “Dante.” Way for his brother to ruin his inner monologue. 

“You’re coming back to Redgrave tonight? Alright. Wait, why don’t you come over to our place? No, it’s fine we have a seat for you. I know good and hell well that shop’s fridge hasn’t been cooled all weekend.” 

Oh darling Huntress. Had the years of raising Nero made you doting upon everyone? Although Vergil found your giving nature infatuating, he growled at the idea of his brother walking in and embarrassing him. 

You hung up shortly. 

“ I should start to make dinner now.” You quickly took your apron, tying it to your waist. Rounding the corner of the counter, you took out various packages of meat, vegetables, cans, and more than enough boxes of spaghetti. Vergil watched with amusement as you took out more and more boxes, counting on your fingers how many people were going to be eating. 

“Spaghetti?” Vergil examined the box. 

“Yeah, we’re going to hand make the sauce and meatballs.” The corner of his mouth twitched. We? 

“Well come on now. Put that apron to use.” You tease as Vergil removed his coat and did as so. 

He followed you to wash his hands next to you by the sink. Drying his hands on a dish towel, you took out the packages of ground beef. 

“Put these in here.” You bent over to take out a giant metal bowl. Vergil unwrapped the brown paper, plopping the chunks of red meat with a soft clang. At lightning speed, you had cracked an egg and added a few spices. 

“Alright, mix it.” You said, hands on your hips. Vergil looked for a spoon or something to mix with. You smiled before taking his slightly wet hands and sticking them into the bowl. He shivered at the feeling of cold egg on his hand. 

“Like so.” While he mixed the combination together, you readied a pan to broil the meatballs once they were shaped. 

The two of you did so, having silence together while lining up neat little lumps, his a bit more clumsily rolled, onto the pans. 

“Must we make so many? This is incredibly tedious.” Vergil commented. 

“I can do it myself-” 

“No.” He cut in. 

After three more pans worth, the two of you stopped for refreshment. Vergil washed his hands twice, not wishing to smell any oregano or animal fat on his skin. 

You handed him a very well-used chef’s knife. The two of you resumed chopping vegetables, throwing them into a sizzling pot. 

He watched you struggle with a stubborn jar of tomato sauce. He gingerly took it from you and popped the lid open. 

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll keep you.” You joked. Vergil scoffed. 

“Have I been amounted to a simple can opener in this household?” 

A rich and bubbling red sauce simmered thickly in a pot, you took a spoon and held it to Vergil’s face. He lowered himself to try it. 

It was slightly sweet and tangy, with this hint of spice that tingled his tongue. 

Until he looked into your eyes had he realized his proximity to your own face, expecting criticism.

“It-it’s good.” You hadn’t even noticed his sputtered statement as you tried it for yourself, tutting. 

You added several different canisters of spices and closed the lid. 

“That’s gonna sit for a little while.” You said while you dusted yourself off. Vergil stood awfully close to you. 

“Yes?” A thumb gently swiped your cheek. Vergil stared at you, his thumb stained with a bit of tomato sauce. He licked it off his hand, breaking eye contact. 

“This is considerably better than the prior spoonful.” You laughed at his poorly disguised antics. 

An hour and some garlic bread in the oven later, your son came through the door. A pair of his good Doc Martens thrown into the corner, he instantly appeared in the kitchen. After a kiss on the cheek and a failed attempt to score himself a meatball, he went to his room to change into his loungewear. 

Nero did not miss the sight of his father in an apron, and he wondered what the hell happened while he was gone. 

“So, how was your day at Kyrie’s?” You asked as Nero landed on the couch. 

“Good, we did some work around the orphanage and then I took her around town.” The sounds of video games filled the air as you decided to turn on some music. 

“Very cute.” You said as you stirred the bottom of the pot. 

“Oh Mom, do you need any help?” 

“No, it’s alright. I got your father helping me.” 

“I hope he can pasta better than he can laundry.” Vergil huffed with indignance.

You raised an eyebrow at your son who seemed rather pleased with his comment. 

“Nero, you’ve lost your garlic bread privileges.” 

“Aw what-” 

Smugly looking away, Vergil took a pot from you. 

Vergil had filled a giant pot with water, his strength coming in handy. As the water came to a boil, you added a generous amount of salt and olive oil. Vergil threw in the boxes of spaghetti. 

After what felt like nonstop work for hours, you and Vergil leaned against the counter with your arms crossed. There was a silence for some time. Nero picked up on this, looking at how his mom and dad both gravely stood with their backs facing him while staring at the pot. Minutes later, you snapped out of it, Vergil following you. 

“Pasta’s done.” You said as you grabbed a colander. The mountain of pasta was strained and thrown into the pot of red sauce. 

“Vergil, can you grab four bowls for me? They’re right above you.” Vergil did as such, while you took out the garlic bread. 

Nero got up, ready to help out. 

“Wait, four? Who’s coming over-” 

A heavy knock shook the door. Vergil sighed loudly, domestic bliss in danger of spiraling into chaos. You went to get the door. 

Nero looked at his father’s sour face. 

“Uh. Who’s at the door?” 

“You’ll see very soon.” Vergil said flatly. 

Lo and behold, the infamous Legendary Devil Hunter entered the living room. He vanished his devil arm and held his arms out to greet Vergil and Nero. 

“That smells so good.” Dante commented as he slid into a seat. 

“Why the hell are you here?” Nero exclaimed.

“Your mom invited me. Is that garlic bread?” Dante reached over to grab a piece. Vergil smacked his hand. 

“You can have a piece when we all get seated.” Dante laughed at his brother and attempted to snatch a piece again. Vergil countered him again. 

“Nice bib you got there, Verg.” Vergil flushed from the tips of his ears. Nero laughed. 

The uncle and nephew heckled their brother and father before he found himself at his absolute limit. 

“I cannot believe I was cooking over this counter for hours just to have you two mediocre buffoons come up here and taunt me.” 

Nero stopped mid-jeer. 

“Aw man, you sound just like mom.” Dante commented. Vergil hesitated for a moment. Memories of childhood flashed through his mind. Before he could feel any melancholy, Dante snatched a piece of garlic bread with a triumphant and gleeful “a-ha!”

Vergil gave up. But his family did not miss the smile on his face. The two cooks in the kitchen took off their aprons and joined the two freeloaders. 

After plating the spaghetti and garlic bread, you found yourself sitting across from Vergil as usual. The uncle and nephew were like animals, while the father and mother exchanged knowing glances at their kin. Vergil risked staining his jacket from the bits of sauce flung at him from his brother’s gluttony. 

Dante got into how he killed all the demons, going way too into detail as Nero asked him politely to shut up, the rest of you agreeing. 

“It’s a good story!” He argued, blotting the leftover sauce with some bread. 

You had finished a while ago, opting to pack up the leftovers. Vergil joined you, putting on rubber gloves to wash the dishes. 

Dante begrudgingly put the dishes Nero dried. If it wasn’t for the fact that Dante was the Legendary Devil Hunter, Vergil the Dark Slayer, you the deadliest woman in the hunting underworld, and Nero the offspring of the two of you, you almost looked like a normal family. To a person not knowing of your reputations, that might have been the case. To some petty demon, seeing all four of you in a room would’ve been a death sentence thrice over. 

“Aw man this is gonna be breakfast tomorrow.” Dante grinned as you put the glass containers into a spare tote bag. 

“Be sure to throw out all that rotted food.”

“The jokes on you, fridge didn’t have anything in it.” 

Once everything was placed back to normal and Dante given Tupperware’s full of unserved leftovers, Vergil realized he needed to go back to Devil May Cry. His twin brother, though bad at math and common sense, could detect that hesitation to leave. 

The two of them stood outside the Huntress’ home. The night was interrupted by dim streetlights. Dante clapped his brother on the shoulder. 

“You know, you can stay the night and I can leave for Redgrave. You can show up tomorrow morning.” Dante said. 

“I would overstay my welcome. I should go with you.” Vergil stated. 

“Come on, keep Huntress’ bed warm.” 

“Dante. Don’t be crude.” Vergil snapped. 

“Besides, do you really want to go back to my bachelor pad? Because in case you haven’t noticed, you’re needed here.” 

“You’ll be alone.” Vergil argued. 

“No.” Dante deadpanned, a calm expression on his face. 

“Not with you guys here, I’m not.” Dante gestured to the quaint home his technically-sister-in-law had made for the Sparda bloodline. 

Vergil said nothing. As what was said by the red devil was enough. 

“Have a nice night Vergil.” 

“As with you, brother.” 

The air stilled as the twins parted ways, Dante speeding off into the night. Vergil came back through the door. 

He had heard the sounds of your routine again, deeming it at its final stage. He changed into his bed garments in your room, hearing the bathroom door squeak as you left. 

“Your turn.” You murmured sleepily. 

Finally in bed after a long day of human socialization and cooking for three devils, the couple took a long exhale as the mattress embraced their tired backs. Exhaustion took them as their eyes drooped half-lidded and breaths steady. 

“That wasn’t too bad today, right Vergil?” You asked. 

“It was adequate.” 

“Adequate? You were having full conversations, cooking, doing chores! ” 

“I was assisting you more than anything.” 

“You’re a rather quick learner.” 

Vergil stared at the ceiling, thinking of the last time he was praised. A white haze appeared in his mind. 

“Does it ever get easier? Learning to be human?” He rasped. 

“It simply is what it is. Just live, and the answer will find you.” Vergil’s train of thought finally reached its end. The lids of his eyes closed. 

“...Goodnight, my Huntress.” 

“As with you.” You yawned, turning over and resting. 

It was the middle of the night when Vergil awoke, laying on his chest. He sensed something, a force. Blue eyes tracing the room for threats, he hesitated his steely gaze at the sight of you. In his observing of your slumber, his own hand joined yours. You were always so warm, his palm resting on your prone hand. 

The moonlight reflected off a plane of the displayed crimson blade, a scarlet haze radiating off the sheath. He growled at the sheen of demonic presence, hackles lowering when the hue subdued. 

Seeing he was alone, the extraneous entity dominated by his own supremacy, Vergil closed his eyes and laid his head back onto the pillow. 

Vergil was bad at many things. You would have to spare him, he knew nothing else but to fight. It was all he had selfishly molded himself solely for power. All for himself. Nothing for you, nothing for Dante, nothing for Nero. 

Time had become his judge, jury, and executioner. As he placed his head on the guillotine, blindfolded but had been unseeing before, he knew that all the years he had thrown out amounted to a single grain of sand. 

You, Nero, and Dante had placed your hands against the blade that threatened to cut the line tying him to this existence. You spited the three-headed judge and pulled him up from his downfall. You three gave him a chance when he had been begging for someone to end it all for him. He wanted to fall, he didn’t expect it would be into your arms. 

For the first time, Vergil held on and didn’t intend to let go. He clung to his family until his own legs finally stood on solid ground. 

If there was one thing Vergil knew he could do to pay for your shared sacrifices, it would be to protect his kin, his brother, and his lover. 

And with everything else he wasn’t as good at, everything he didn’t know or understand, well-

Every day he’d learn something new. 

With that, he had fallen asleep and dreamt of the rising sun touching the peak of the highest mountains. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Not too proud of this installment, but I needed to wrap this up for the next work. Thanks for the kudos._

**Author's Note:**

> I see that Fortuna is not representative of POC. Allow me to change that with a farmer's market scene.


End file.
